


Billet-doux

by lumively



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Cottagecore, Fluff, Forests, Gardens & Gardening, It's about the longing, Kunten, Love Letters, M/M, Making Out, Picnics, Romance, Secret Admirer, hencas crumbs, witch! ten
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:49:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26024488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumively/pseuds/lumively
Summary: The peaceful life of a reserved witch living in a forest is thrown upside down when he starts to receive beautiful love letters from a not-so-secret admirer. 💌A story about love, magic and mischievous kittens.
Relationships: Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten & Qian Kun, Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Qian Kun
Comments: 40
Kudos: 180





	Billet-doux

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seupeuu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seupeuu/gifts).



I.

Daybreak. 

The first light of the day seeps timidly through the needle-like leaves of the firs surrounding the small house in the clearing, filtering through the windows and creating long shadows on the walls. 

Louis, awoken by the specks of dust permeating the sunrays tickling at his sensitive nose, starts pacing quietly at the foot of the bed. His long back moves sinuously, in time with the slow cadence of his dark tail swishing from side to side. 

Finally, he stops in his tracks to jump gracefully upon the puffy duvet. As he steps over the soft expanse of white cotton, his paws sink into the material, leaving dips like imprints on fresh snow.

When he reaches the pillow, he immediately starts nuzzling his owner's cheek, gently coaxing him to wake up. He also playfully nips at his cheekbone, for good measure. 

Ten grumbles and shifts to hide his face into the pillow. 

"Just five more minutes," he huffs out, clinging on the last remains of slumber. 

But Louis is unrelenting. He paws at the crown of Ten's head and lets his claws peek out a little, just to tease. 

Ten whines pitifully against the fluffy pillow.

"Stop it" he slurs, his words ending up suffocated by the soft fabric.

The kitten keeps on playing with a strand of his hair, nudging the inky black locks as if they were a mouse's tail until Ten grows tired of his constant tormenting. 

Sleep seems to have left him completely as he rises from his bed in a single swift movement, promptly followed by a meowing Louis.

Standing with his toes against the plush ivory-coloured carpet he stretches his arms up, arching his back, allowing his muscles to loosen up.

He closes his eyes, inhaling deeply and then exhaling while slowly rolling his neck from one side to the other.

His eyes flicker open when a muffled thud at his window startles him, forcing him to turn around.

"Uh?"

The commotion happening outside reaches Ten, bleary-eyed and disoriented, in sudden flashes, almost as if he were the spectator of a chaotic shadow play.

A flurry of feathers, light beige. Another soft thump. 

And then the glass window, only slightly ajar before, is creaking open.

A large bird bursts into the room with unexpected vigour. In its beak something shines, catching Louis' attention immediately, but before the cat can even  _ think  _ to jump forward, the bird lets its beak fall open and then, just like it entered, it’s out of the window again in the blink of an eye.

The thing the strange bird left behind has made its silent descent and has landed almost gracefully onto the carpet with the faint whisper of paper against soft fur. 

Ten nears the object and eyes it from above. It looks like a scroll of brownish paper bound together by a thin golden ribbon. 

How peculiar, Ten muses. He isn't one to receive mail normally and sure enough not through bizarre flying creatures breaking into his home. But he isn't displeased, not at all, as he picks up the parchment from the floor and carefully unties the knot to reveal beautifully elaborated calligraphy. 

His cheeks grow hot as he starts reading the first lines of the letter:

"My Dearest, 

Not a day has gone by without me longing for another fortuitous encounter with you, since the fateful day I caught a glimpse of your graceful figure by the lily pond."

Ten thinks back to the last time he visited the small pool of still, green water where he usually goes to gather colourful algae and flowers for his potions. 

Must have been a week or so, he believes.

Surrounded by marsh vegetation (large ferns, dew-kissed grass, tall bulrushes) and soft, wet dirt, the pond is rarely frequented by humans and it is rather dominated by the myriad of insects and various amphibians that inhabit it. 

It is a wonder Ten didn't notice someone looking at him while he was there. 

"Your alluring beauty struck me so deeply that I could not bring myself to utter a word, not even a simple greeting, but my ardent wish to make your acquaintance drove me to do something I deeply regret now and I sincerely apologize for. 

In a spur-of-the-moment decision, I followed you."

Ten lets out a quiet gasp at the revelation. His body tingles with something akin to trepidation as he anxiously scans the paper to know more of the story. 

"I realise now how improper of me it was to do something so invasive, so disreputable. But my intentions were good: I simply desired to hear your name from your delicate lips. Unfortunately, I hesitated once again and I could only stare as you retreated into your home. 

The next day and the day after that I waited for you in the same spot, hoping to see you again in order to apologize in person, but to no avail. 

I pondered for a long time over what I had done and I resolved that putting my words on paper and sending them to you could serve as a sensible amendment. 

If you choose to throw this letter away, I can't and I won't blame you. I will find a way to forget you, despite how painful that will be. 

However, if you decide that I am worthy of another chance, I would be more than delighted to hear from you. 

Tomorrow, I will send my turtle dove to your window. If he will come back to me with an empty beak, then I will know and I will make sure to leave you in peace. 

With undying devotion, 

A lovestruck fool. "

For a moment Ten stills, his flurried heartbeat ringing into his ears.

This is a lot to take in all at once. 

He can't quite process everything, especially when he has just woken up and still hasn't had his breakfast. 

Louis meows, looking up at him inquisitively from his spot at Ten's feet. 

Right, Louis hasn't had his breakfast either. 

Ten worries at his lip, stares at the tender words again with a sort of apprehension as if he were afraid they would disappear as soon as he averted his gaze. 

A moment passes in which Ten just stares and stares, stunned, then Louis gently rubs his small face against his legs and Ten can't ignore him anymore. 

“Alright, baby, let’s get you something to eat, alright?” he coos, picking him up gently and leaving the letter on his bedside table. 

His kitchen is rather small, but it is equipped with all the necessary tools to cook, bake and concoct various potions. Louis likes to sit on top of the live-edge shelves, comfortably nestled between jars of spices and basil plants, and peer down at Ten while he’s preparing something, following his every movement with the characteristic curiosity that all cats have in common.

  
  


That morning is no different and Louis immediately wrestles out of Ten’s hold to climb up and find a spot beside a small ceramic pot filled with dried thyme and a tall vase of fresh wild carnations.

  
  


Ten potters around the kitchen for a while, looking for ingredients, letting his thoughts wander freely, but never allowing himself to think too deeply about the recent events that make him feel so flustered. 

With a flick of his index finger, a ring of cerulean fire comes alive on the stove, where he places a small saucepan that he fills with fresh, frothy milk. He slowly stirs the milk, adding a spoonful of raw acacia honey, some lavender and chamomile blooms. 

While the sweet aroma of flowers and syrupy honey fills the room, Ten prepares a nice breakfast for Louis: he chops some leftover baked salmon up into bite-size pieces and places them into a bowl with a drizzle of olive oil.

He doesn’t even need to call him, because as soon as he turns around with the bowl in his hands, Louis has already landed at his feet, eagerly waiting for his food with huge, shiny eyes. As soon as the ceramic bottom of the container touches the floor, the cat is all over the rich, glistening fish, wolfing it down in a couple of big bites.

In the meantime, Ten turns off the stove and pours the warm beverage in his favourite mug, - a pretty porcelain cup decorated with an intricate floral pattern that his friend gave him as a housewarming gift - grabs a loaf of buttery bread and finally sits at the table in the conservatory adjacent to the kitchen. 

There is something so relaxing about eating while looking at how Nature is slowly awaking in his garden, but even something as trivial as the muffled chirping of birds seems to divert Ten’s attention to more troubling matters, to unanswered letters and beating hearts. 

“What am I supposed to do?” he wonders aloud as he sops up some milky goodness with a piece of his delicious homemade bread. 

Louis comes up to him, licking his whiskers and eyeing the morsel of warm, soggy bread hungrily. He has always been a glutton and Ten can’t help but indulge him, as he is his perfect little baby. So he lets Louis eat soft white bread dripping in milk from his fingers, as a treat. 

Somehow, even the simple proximity with his familiar is capable of clearing his mind, his purring almost therapeutic to the ears.

Ten hums, nodding slightly as if his cat had the ability to reveal to him the secrets of the universe just through little, pleased sounds. 

"You're right," he mumbles softly, crouching down to scratch behind his ears "I'll call him." 

II.

The large mother of pearl inlay mirror in Ten's bedroom behaves like a sort of sun-catcher, projecting luminous shapes all over the walls, creating a truly unique, dream-like atmosphere. Louis, ever so playful, likes to capture the fragments of light with his paws in a game that mostly leaves him puzzled as the small, pearlescent flickers tend to stick to the walls and disappear only at sundown. 

But the mirror doesn't simply serve as a fascinating piece of décor: it is infused with warm, tingly magic, the type of magic that binds people together, that connects individuals beyond distances and limits. Many refer to this magic as friendship or even love, sometimes. 

Ten places his palm against the glass, feeling the familiar energy radiate from it, tepid yet powerful. 

He concentrates on specific sensations, smells, the sound of laughter, images of floral teacups and dirty pawprints on floor tiles. 

It doesn't take long for his reflection to disappear, at which point Ten swiftly withdraws his hand from the mirror's surface. 

All of a sudden Ten is met with the face of a boy, caught in extreme close-up as he's furiously brushing his teeth. 

Their eyes meet and the boy in the mirror shrieks, letting his toothbrush fall in surprise.

"What the-... Ten! You gave me a fright, man," he exclaims, blinking rapidly as a streak of white toothpaste trickles down his chin. 

"Good morning to you, too, Hendery," Ten grins, unaffected by his friend's reaction. 

Hendery lets out an exasperated sigh and starts rambling: "I told you, you should buy yourself a phone or something you can't keep invading other people's mirrors like this…" 

Ten almost zones out as Hendery starts to list all the advantages of having a cellphone, rattling off some of the best brands in the market. He hums noncommittally and only perks up a bit when Hendery mentions the sheer amount of cat videos one could watch on the internet. 

"Very tempting, indeed," he concedes "but I don't really have time for this at the moment. 

You see, I'm caught in a bit of a predicament." 

Hendery's expression morphs in a concerned frown. 

"What's wrong?" he asks. 

Ten starts to recount everything that has happened that morning, explaining in detail the contents of the letter and the sophisticated tone the anonymous author used. 

"You got yourself a secret admirer, that is _so_ _romantic_!" Hendery squeals in delight, almost vibrating from the excitement. 

Ten groans, burying his face in his palms as his cheeks start colouring slightly. 

His complaints then come out a bit muffled, but still comprehensible: "This guy followed me without saying a word, what if they're some weirdo, Hendery?!" 

He simply shrugs. 

"Maybe they're just very shy, if they were a murderer or something they would have already killed you without sending all that sappy stuff" he reasons. 

Well, isn't that reassuring. 

Despite his friend's words, Ten is still on the fence about the whole situation. When it came to love in the past he was always very upfront about it, confessing his feelings right away. All the layers of indirectness of the letter, however, leave him confused, grasping for something more tangible. 

He tries to somewhat verbalise his thoughts in the hopes that things will become clearer, but he struggles. 

"I'm just… This never happened to me before," he babbles, "I feel like there is a sort of connection perhaps but I don't understand how, it's just a letter, you know, and this person is an absolute stranger, I just wish I could talk to them or something, figure things out…" 

On the other side, Hendery nods, a small smile plastered on his face. 

"Well, then, the solution is simple: you just need to reply to the letter," he says matter-of-factly. 

Ten is about to interject, but his attempt at speaking is cut off by a crashing sound, followed by a scream coming from the midst of Hendery's house. 

Hendery flinches, then turns his back to the older witch to shout: "Oh my Moon, what now?!" 

Xuxi's booming voice reaches them both loud and clear: "Ah nothing, Bella just knocked off some orchid vases!"

Hendery visibly slumps, like a half-empty Sack of flour. "Not again…" he groans. 

He turns around again, shaking his head in defeat: "This is why you don't get a dog who thinks it is a cat as a familiar." 

He pauses, gnawing at his lips, silently lost in thought. 

The silence doesn't last for long because not even a second later the sound of glass shattering reverberates through the screen. 

"Sorry, that was me!" cries Xuxi apologetic. 

Hendery badly conceals a smile as he sighs: "And this is why you don't date a big, burly werewolf." 

Ten laughs behind his hand. His friends are cute. 

"Sorry, Ten, I need to make sure my two overgrown puppies don't destroy the whole house, I hope you figure out what to do, I know you can," he winks and in the blink of an eye (quite literally) he's gone, leaving Ten to stare at his own frowning face once again. 

He takes a deep breath, feels his chest expanding and then all his nerves seem to loosen, to relax. 

Deep down, he always knew what he wanted to do from the start. 

III. 

As it turns out, writing is hard. 

Ten spends more than an hour nibbling on his pen and staring out of the window, hoping that all the words he wants to express will somehow appear out of thin air and place themselves on the paper in perfect straight lines, like little obedient soldiers. But unfortunately, most words tend to be far from obedient: they like to play tricks and hide under the tip of one's tongue, always so close yet far from reach. 

And so Ten broods and sighs and his sheet of paper remains as white as a cloud. 

It's Louis who wakes him from his reverie, with a gentle paw on his knee and the softest of meows. 

Ten picks him up, holding him like a baby and leaving a fluttering kiss on top of his head. "What would I do without you?" he breathes out, fondness clear in his inflection. In response, Louis simply wiggles out of his embrace to jump on the table, landing dangerously close to a cup of chamomile that has long turned cold. 

He sniffs at the yellowish drink, quickly losing interest and deciding to curl up for a nap instead. Right on top of Ten's unfinished (or better unstarted) letter, of course. 

Maybe it's for the better, Ten muses. A break might do him good. Besides, he isn't going to accomplish anything by sitting there for hours on end, doing nothing. 

He slips on his pointy boots and heads outside, a large wicker basket secured in the crook of his elbow. The weather is lovely on that summer afternoon with creamy swirls of clouds framing the sun like they were directly painted on the sky by the expert hands of an artist. Ten breathes in the crisp, blue air and feels his mood improving already.

Following the narrow cobblestone path, he reaches the fenced doorway that leads to his garden. The door creaks open and Ten slips inside, immediately immersing himself in the bountiful Nature beyond it.

His garden is his pride and joy, a special place he curates as if it were his own art exhibition. Pinks, whites, yellows, reds. Carnations, lilies, lilies, roses. Everything flows together in harmony, creating beauty and variety without being too gaudy or tiring to the eye.

His favourite corner has to be the aromatic herbs section, where sage, rosemary, basil and thyme grow freely, a pleasure for all senses. A soft buzzing sound can be heard as bees fly lazily between the lilac-coloured flowers of a beautiful lavender hedge in search of sweet nectar. 

Ten spends the better part of an hour collecting scented herbs, picking them with the utmost care and making sure they are perfectly arranged in his basket, spread out like specks of paint on a palette. 

Satisfied with his assortment, Ten leaves the garden with a certain pep in his walk. He is going to make lemon lavender shortbread, brew some more tea and maybe put on one of his old vinyl. Anything to get his creative juices flowing. He needs to be well inspired if he wants to make a good impression with his letter. 

Louis welcomes him home with a distinctive cry, that Ten has learned to interpret as an excited greeting in cat language. He sets his basket on the floor and makes a beeline to the bathroom to wash his hands before crouching down to pet him and lightly scratch beneath his chin. The siamese purrs loudly, delighted. 

“Want to help me bake, little one?” Ten asks, stroking the bridge of his cat’s nose with his fingertip. 

Louis is always happy to join him when he’s trying out a new recipe because he gets to have a taste of this and that in the process. Once, when Ten tried to make homemade milk cream gelato, he even got to lick the bowl clean. “A pre-wash,” Ten had called it. 

So it doesn’t take any nagging for Louis to follow him in the kitchen. It’s a good arrangement: Ten likes the company and Louis likes to snack on the ingredients. 

Time goes by incredibly fast and, without even noticing, the sun has set and all Ten has done is a batch of shortbread cookies and a steaming cup of herbal tea. His letter is left forgotten on the table, immaculate. 

Clusters of stars start to dot the huge, dark canvas that is the night sky and Ten still hasn’t written a word. 

He lets out a sigh, picks up his pen and just writes. Sometimes you just need to put your mind at rest and let your hands take over, he figures.

“To a love-struck fool,

I thought about your letter all day.

Let’s get to know each other better.

Yours, 

Ten.”

He simply folds the paper in half, puts it outside on the windowsill and places a small, satin pouch with a couple of cookies inside on it as a gift.

It’s not much, but he hopes that it will lead to something meaningful. Something special.

  
  


IV.

The following morning, Ten wakes at noon with a start as Louis decides it would be fun to jump on his stomach and start meowing. Very loudly.

“Humph…”

It takes a lot of huffing and groaning to get out of bed that day and at twenty-three Ten hates to be compared to a retired octogenarian, but he does resemble one, at least emotionally, when he complains about his aching back. 

When he finally stands up, the joints in his knees cracking audibly at the movement, thoughts of the previous night come flooding back. 

Falling asleep had been a struggle: he couldn’t find a comfortable position and his insecurities started to get the best of him as he over analyzed the words he wrote in his letter.

Oh, right, the letter.

He quickly skips to the window and peers outside. On the windowsill, in place of his little note and sweet treats, there is an envelope, sealed with a rose-tinted wax stamp in the shape of a carnation.

He nearly screams out of trepidation, his hands slightly wavering when he tries to open the envelope without ruining the lovely seal. 

Just like last time, the handwriting is neat, exquisite in a way that Ten has only ever seen in some antique manuals on herbology from the late 18th century. The tone is endearingly formal, never pretentious or too awkward, and it makes Ten smile when he can sense true, inhibited emotion seep through the ink. 

  
  


“Dear Ten,

I could not contain my excitement as I read your brief yet charming message. In my euphoric state, I felt the necessity to write back right away, so I apologize if I come across as too frantic or unpolished. 

I am very thankful of the possibility you gave me and I, too, wish to know you better. 

I wonder what makes you smile, where you like to spend your day and what are the activities you keep yourself busy with. 

I'm a fairly simple man, but I would say I am quite passionate about my interests. 

Do you like music?

I, personally, adore listening to ballads and sometimes I even attempt at writing and composing songs myself. 

I am also keen on cooking: preparing meals for my friends always brings me joy and eating together is a very special form of conviviality. I very much appreciated your kind gift and I hope one day to return the favour by treating you to a home-cooked dinner. Or lunch, whichever you prefer.”

Ten can’t help but blush a little at the idea. It’s been a while since the reserved witch has been on a date.

"Anyhow, I wish you a wonderful day and I look forward to hearing from you again. 

I am very affectionately yours,

Kun"

_ Kun _ .

Ten lets the name roll off his tongue.

Kunkunkun.

He feels his heart clench, one single syllable invading his mind and heart. It hurts so good, like a mark on his skin.

Knowing the name of his admirer somehow makes his imagination more vivid and he can't help but fantasize about his appearance. 

_ His hands must be beautiful _ , he thinks,  _ strong yet graceful as he grips his pen and traces elaborate lines with it. Perhaps pausing for a moment to tap his finger on his full lips, deep in thought, his brows creasing gently.  _

_ Yeah,  _ Ten muses,  _ he must be good with his hands… _

So caught up in his daydreaming, Ten doesn’t register a sheet of paper slipping out of the envelope and onto the floor until Louis starts fiddling with it with his nimble paws.

He picks it up before his cat can shred it to pieces with his claws.

“Oh wow,” Ten gasps.

Masterfully handwritten on thick, white paper is a piano score for a song simply entitled “Clouds”.

Ten marvels at the arrangement of the notes, the refined artistry of the piece and he feels a surge of affection at the idea of Kun being so willing to share one of his songs with him. He flips the paper and on the back he finds a small note, written in short, quick strokes with a pencil: “For you; so you can find me in the many shapes of the sky.”

A song by Kun, written for...him? He needs to hear it like he needs air.

His feet move as if they were silver dandelion seeds transported by the wind, flying over the grass that tickles at his ankles. His boots lay forgotten on the porch, one destination burning in mind.

He doesn’t even feel the pain of shards of bark and rocks scraping his soles, so focused on his goal that the world around him turns into a blur. 

When he finally reaches the small clearing in the woods, sweat cascades in rivulets from his forehead to his glowing cheeks and the hand clenching the sheet of music is slightly damp as well.

Encased in the wide trunk of an old oak tree, like a pearl inside a shell, stands a small, wooden pianoforte. Some keys are encrusted with green moss and the stool is completely intertwined with the tree’s thick roots, but other than that it looks like a perfectly normal, old piano. In reality, it is much more than that: considered to be the pulsing heart of the forest, its healing energy lies in the music it produces, which flows and ebbs rhythmically, reinvigorating the woodland all around and soothing every creature as soon as it reaches their ears.

Ten rarely plays, but under his fingertips Kun’s music comes alive, floating through the pure air, over the trees, echoing in the whole valley. 

The melody, in all its mellow, humble simplicity, almost brings Ten to tears.

At one point he stops. Everything seems to still as silence falls over the clearing. 

Ten tilts his head upwards and admires the silky sheen layers of white clouds framing the sky, even lighter than chiffon scarves and just as elegant.

“I love it, Kun” he murmurs, eyes glistening and heart full of emotion.

It’s imperceptible, but for a moment the wispy cirrus clouds seem to reflect every colour of the rainbow under the golden sunlight.

  
  


V.

Hot water slowly fills the clawfoot bathtub, forming clouds of steam that swirl around the gilded-accented edges. 

Ten lets a handful of rose petals fall into the steaming water, stares as they fluctuate over the surface, glistening like beautiful red scales on a mermaid's tail. 

A candle, the only source of light beside the pinkish-orange glow of the setting sun outside, already burns beside the bathtub; its scent a mixture of vanilla and fresh cotton. 

Ten undresses slowly, basks in the warm glow of summer evenings. 

The muffled music of a record-player reaches his ears, reverberates into his skin, soft and pleasant.

He likes to get in the mood before reading Kun’s beautiful letters. It has become a habit of his to relax at the end of the day, draw a bath and just let Kun’s words take over his mind, pacify him.

There is nothing that Kun can’t do apparently; he sends Ten all kinds of creations, from tender poems dripping with honey to musical compositions so perfect that they seem personally crafted by the hands of Phoebus. One time his trusty dove even delivered a small box containing tasty little sesame cakes made from scratch. 

This time the envelope contains a lengthy account of Kun’s weekend, along with a free verse sonnet written on the back of the paper in cursive. Ten charms the letter with a simple spell that will make it float at a safe distance from the water, but close enough to be read comfortably while laying in the bathtub.

He submerges himself in the sea of petals and fragrant rose water, immediately feeling his limbs becoming lighter as he leaves all tiredness behind.

Even when he's sharing little anecdotes about his life, Kun manages to be incredibly fascinating in Ten's eyes. An invisible thread ties them together, slowly but surely bringing them closer and closer, despite not having exactly met before. 

Kun is burrowing a special nest in Ten's heart and for the first time there isn't a trace of fear, just acceptance and affection. 

These feelings seem to be reciprocated since Kun writes in a postscript: "I cannot explain how, but you make me braver. Oftentimes bravery and foolishness go hand in hand. I have accepted that I will always be your love-struck fool and that you will always linger here with me: in the desk drawer, in the deep colour of ink, in the smell of summer. We are all bound to disappear one day, but our souls are one.”

And just like that Ten learns how love can be shapeless, incorporeal, infinite.

Ten savours Kun's poems like the finest, most decadent desserts, gets lost in them as if they were labyrinths of pleasure. 

Deep down, though, a part of him wishes Kun would stop sending his messenger bird over and simply show up, show him how love can go beyond words. 

They talk about it throughout their correspondence, but Kun seems to be always reluctant to take the next step and their coveted first meeting ends up getting postponed every single time. 

After a while, Ten simply stops asking. 

If Kun doesn't want to meet in person, so be it. He just doesn't want to ruin what they already have, so he pretends it's enough to foster their relationships through letters and gifts and romantic longings.

But is it really enough?

Ten sighs and lets himself sink into the warm, sweet-scented water.

VI.

A peal of thunder rumbling in the distance is what wakes Ten from his afternoon nap. The warm rays of sunlight that had lulled him into a light sleep have disappeared under dense, grey clouds. 

He scrambles to his feet and rushes outside, yanking the clean sheets down the thread on which he had hung them out to dry before they can get wet again. Thick droplets of rain start falling as he goes back inside, sheets folded safely under his armpit. He lets out a sigh of relief, mentally patting himself on the back for his quick thinking. 

When he returns to his bedroom he finds Louis hiding under the bed with his ears flat against his head. He is afraid of the sound of thunder and it takes a lot of gentle whispers to coax him out of his hiding place into Ten’s waiting arms. 

Ten showers his baby with cuddles and leaves little pecks on his forehead. Smack, smack, smack.

"Such a scaredy-cat," he giggles. Louis doesn’t take offence, but he escapes from Ten’s hold in favour of burying himself underneath a pile of blankets on his bed.

A roar, a strong gust of wind sweeps over the valley, bending the trees. Ten's window resembles a wet canvas from Turner's studio, if not for one unusual detail. A dark blotch flickering in the distance. 

Ten hears it before he actually sees it clearly, the terrified cry of an animal struggling to move. He strides towards the window just in time to see a bird (Kun's turtle dove, Ten's mind quickly supplies) collapse under the heavy rain. 

Every single nerve in his body tenses and he doesn’t even register that he has started running until he’s standing on his porch, panting and already soaked in cold rainwater.

His eyes skim frantically over the damp grass, desperately trying to spot the bird. 

Ten feels a painful knot forming in his throat until- There! 

A ball of dark feathers resting on a carpet of poppies. He picks it up as quickly and as carefully as he can. 

Although the bird’s reddish-brown eyes are open, it is completely motionless and the only sounds it emits are feeble chirps that are nearly inaudible with the storm rumbling outside.

Ten loves all kinds of animals, but he has never cared for a possibly injured bird and if truth be told he finds its sharp beak and claws slightly scary.

Nevertheless, he must find a way to help that poor creature, which is probably far more frightened of the witch than he could ever be of an innocuous bird.

He places the light brown dove on the bathroom’s marble countertops, bundled up in a warm, fuzzy towel and gets to work trying to recite by heart all the right words to summon the spirit of the sirocco wind. Fortunately, his memory doesn’t falter and soon a mild, pleasant breeze starts gently blowing around them, fluffing up the dove’s wet feathers and shaking off every droplet of rain.

It’s quite magical the way the messenger bird revives as soon as it’s dry and cozy, like a lotus flower unfolding its graceful corolla of petals under the warm sunlight.

Its first attempt at flying, though, is just a moment shy from disaster. Thankfully Ten is there to catch it before it falls directly into the toilet.

“Hey there,” he coos, timidly attempting to pat his head with his fingertip, “be careful, baby. It’s better if you get some rest before flying off.”

The dove raises its feathers and ducks his head, almost as if it were embarrassed and lets itself be carried upstairs inside Ten’s bedroom. The witch delicately places his new friend inside a straw-woven basket near his bedside table. It fits inside perfectly, but its claws scrape uncomfortably against the thin sticks of wood.

“Oh wait, I’ll get a towel!” Ten exclaims, then skitters down the stairs in a hurry.

He doesn’t even make it to the bathroom, that an alarmed warble reaches his ears.

He climbs back the stairs two steps at a time.

In his room, all the blankets on his bed are in disarray and the wicker basket is upside-down against the wall.

He turns his head to the other side opposite the window and then he sees everything, like a witness of a crime.

“Louis, no!” he shouts, horrified. 

His cat is on the floor next to the mirror, paws planted on either side of the dove’s wings, effectively trapping the poor bird and rendering it immobile.

There is a mischievous glint in Louis’ eyes that does not bode well.

But then, just as he’s about to bite into the bird’s soft neck, a blinding light emanates from its body and all of a sudden there is a man on Ten's bedroom floor. A very naked, very handsome man. 

Louis, who is still on top of him, jumps at least one meter off the ground and lets out the loudest hiss Ten's has ever heard, before running out of the door at the speed of light. 

"Ow" the man groans, slowly lifting himself up on his elbows. 

Ten's gaze moves from his mussed up hair, to the attractive dip of his collarbones, down to his firm stomach and following the dark patch of hairs leading to-

"Oh Gods" the man shouts, throwing out his hands to cover himself up as best as he can, face flushed with embarrassment. 

Ten's own cheeks become rosy as he makes eye contact with the former messenger bird, who simply smiles awkwardly at him. 

"Well, that wasn't exactly how I had envisioned our first meeting…" the naked man mumbles, flustered. 

And just like that, in a sudden moment of epiphany, Ten finally realizes:

"K-Kun?!" 

VII.

Kun sits in the conservatory, wearing one of Ten’s oversized t-shirts and nursing a cup of unsweetened herbal tea. He keeps stealing glances at Ten, too overcome by shyness to speak or look at him directly in the eyes.

Ten, on the other hand, has been stirring the same pitcher of pink lemonade for at least five minutes, trying to find the right words to say. It’s not easy, breaking the ice that is, but someone has to do it.

“So,” the witch finally utters, “you’re a shapeshifter, uh?”

Kun nearly chokes on his tea, coughing and spluttering, taken by surprise by the sudden question.

“Y-yeah!” he replies, a bit too loudly, voice a bit too squeaky, while scrambling to find a tissue to clean up the mess he made on the table when the tea went down the wrong pipe.

Ten feels bad for him, but at the same time he can’t suppress the giggle he lets out at the absurdity of the whole situation. 

And as he thinks about it more and more he can’t stop laughing. His laughter is infectious and soon enough Kun is also cracking up. Just like that, they both end up doubled over with laughter, with tears forming at the corner of their eyes, and it takes a good minute before they manage to calm down.

They take a deep breath in unison and slowly lift their gazes to regard each other. All the previous tension and awkwardness seem to disappear, like a bubble bursting in the air. 

Unafraid, Ten properly looks into Kun's eyes for the first time and amidst deep amber and flecks of gold he sees it, the feeling the shapeshifter often translated into beautiful words on paper. 

It’s striking to feel adoration so vividly, so up close and personal. It makes Ten want to lower his eyes again, but then Kun is next to him and his hands are cupping his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry for procrastinating so much,” he says, eyes glossy with emotion “I was scared that showing  _ this _ , my true self would ruin everything we had- mmhn”

Ten abruptly hushes him with a kiss on the lips, ardent with passion and urgency.

After a brief moment of stupor, Kun returns the kiss, lowering his hands to grip at Ten’s waist, bringing him even closer.

When they break apart Ten mutters: “Shut up. It doesn't matter anymore. You're here and you're perfect.”

"I’m far from perfect, I feel so silly," Kun whispers "If it weren't for my stupid, socially awkward self I could have had you in my arms months ago…" 

Ten snickers. "Yeah, you are kind of silly… And you owe me that homemade lunch you promised me. Or dinner, whichever. And a kiss to make up for everything. Wait, no, let's make it two kisses." 

Kun happily complies.

That night Ten learns how love can be corporeal, tangible, hot to the touch. 

VIII. 

On their first date, they decide to have a picnic in the garden.

They take their time preparing some veggie spring rolls with the carrots and the cabbage from Ten’s vegetable garden, cutting a juicy watermelon into bite-size cubes and baking cinnamon pastries sprinkled with brown sugar.

While Kun is preparing the peanut sauce for the spring rolls, Ten hugs him from behind and tucks his chin on top of his shoulder. He peers down, completely enraptured by the way his hands move expertly. Perched on the shelf, Louis monitors everything with attentive eyes.

The little Siamese cat is still quite wary of Kun, eyeing him suspiciously from afar and limiting himself to sniff at his calves discreetly whenever he comes near. He wants to be prepared, in case he decides to randomly become gigantic again.

When their picnic basket is filled to the brim with delicious food, they finally head outside, reveling in the lovely weather of late August. Ten is wearing a white linen shirt, the material so thin it’s easy to catch the sparkle of a gem at his navel or the black lines of ink adorning his chest, and long flowy palazzo pants of gossamer silk. Kun has opted for a cropped, light, cream-coloured cardigan with nothing underneath and brown corduroy trousers.

They lay a red and white tablecloth on the dry grass and spend the better part of midday eating and enjoying themselves. After their meal, they lie down to look at the blue sky above, marveling at the everchanging clouds, humming a tune they both know by heart.

When Kun sits up, Ten immediately crawls into his lap and straddles him.

He fits his lithe body against Kun's and murmurs: "Honestly, I'm so glad we got to meet the way we did. I hate cliches…" 

"Your cat tried to eat me" Kun groans, burying his face in the crook between Ten's smooth neck and clavicle. 

"Well," Ten purrs, low and coy, "you do look  _ exceptionally _ delicious."

His exaggerated tone manages to pull a chuckle out of Kun, who has shifted in his arms, eyes flicking up to study Ten's face from up close. The gentle curve of his eyelashes, his dainty features, the diaphanous lightness of his clothes look like something out of a Godward painting and Kun’s heart swells as he takes in such delicate beauty.

Kun's laughter morphs into a choked gasp as Ten starts mouthing at the back of Kun's ear, tracing his tongue along his jaw and leaving kittenish nips on his chin and up to his cheekbone. 

Kun sticks his hands under Ten's loose, linen shirt and starts caressing his back, his palms cool and soft against his feverish hot skin. Shivering, Ten presses his lips again Kun's, flickers his tongue out playfully, teasing. 

They kiss slowly, luxuriating in the pleasant feeling of warmth that spreads through their bodies as they move together with ease. 

A warm breeze washes over them, tousling their hair, soothing their sun-kissed skin.

The buttons of Ten’s shirt come undone easily and Kun traces his fingers over the tattoo that spreads graciously over his heart.

Ten lets out a quiet moan when he feels Kun’s skilled hands venture lower, scratching his taunt stomach with blunt nails and gently rubbing at his hip bones, then letting his palm slide under his pants to caress his supple thighs.

His touch, the scent of Kun’s citrusy cologne, everything about him is intoxicating, clouding Ten’s mind to the extent that he doesn't realize something is happening around them until he hears an oddly familiar meow that makes Kun stop in his tracks.

Kun pulls away and turns around to look at the source of the sound, making Ten groan in frustration.

“Louis!” he then shrieks, alarmed, as soon as he takes in the image of his cat in front of them, with a thing that’s definitely not alive dangling from his mouth.

Ten is used to Louis’ unusual and slightly macabre gifts of eviscerated lizards and dismembered mice. He appreciates the thought, don’t get him wrong, he just thinks, however, that it would be nice not to completely scare away his boyfriend on their first date.

Surprisingly, Kun starts laughing.

“He’s so cute” he chuckles.

Ten’s can’t conceal his confusion: “Uh?”

But then he sees it, his cat’s generous and absolutely unexpected present: a dry, dead leaf.

And he looks so comically proud of the prey he caught just for them that Ten can’t help but burst into giggles, too.

It’s undeniably funny, but it also fills Ten’s heart with warmth, the idea that through a simple, perhaps even silly gesture Louis is slowly starting to accept Kun into their small, loving family.

❀

A little less lonely, a little more in love; what a heavenly way to spend your life in a cozy cottage at the edge of the forest.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> hey hey if you enjoyed my story let me know don't be shy 🍒  
> yell at me on twitter @lumively if you want to✨


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